In the popular imagination, spying is not just a crime but an act of epic betrayal. Only someone supremely ungrateful to his country, and perhaps even committed to its destruction or failure, would betray its secrets to a foreign adversary.
The case of former FBI agent Robert Hanssen, who died on June 5 at age 79, must be counted as something of an exception to this standard view of spying. During his quarter-century career with the FBI, Hanssen obsessively, audaciously, and recklessly communicated secret information to the Soviet Union and, upon its collapse, to Russia. In the course of Hanssen’s decadeslong treachery, secret plans were divulged and double agents and informants were identified. The fallout encompassed lost lives and enormous losses to U.S. intelligence.
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In spite of the scale of his misdeeds, though, Hanssen was a very small man. In a departure from our standard view of men who become spies, Hanssen apparently didn’t harbor any particular enmity toward his country nor a strong belief in an alternate system of government.
Upon his arrest in 2001, his attorney, Plato Cacheris, told CNN that his client was driven, at least in part, by “financial considerations,” but the value of the money and gifts given to him by the Russians ($1.4 million) was hardly commensurate to the damage done or, from his perspective, the risks taken. Winston Churchill might have said of Hanssen what he once said of the Soviets writ large: that he is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.
The Chicago-born son of Howard and Vivian Hanssen, the future spy nurtured interests that would have been wholly unremarkable at the time and only look significant in hindsight. According to the 2003 Department of Justice inspector general’s report about the Hanssen affair, young Hanssen was an avid admirer of James Bond and acquired “items associated with espionage,” including a Walther PPK pistol (Bond’s weapon of choice), a Leica camera, and, of all things, a Swiss bank account.
Upon earning a degree in chemistry from Knox College, Hanssen entered Northwestern University, where he made an unlikely switch in studies: He went in as a dental student and left as the recipient of an MBA. He seems to have been smart but rudderless.
The course of his life took shape when, following a stint at the Chicago Police Department, Hanssen joined the FBI in 1976. In 1979, after his base of operations moved from Gary, Indiana, to New York, Hanssen initiated contact with the GRU, the Soviet military intelligence agency. His life thereafter became a series of unremarkable FBI assignments juggled with anonymous interactions with emissaries of the Evil Empire and its successor state. Without evident joy or a grand purpose, Hanssen traded secrets (and lives) for cash.
In accounting for Hanssen’s actions, the inspector general’s report cited a variety of character flaws, including “a desire to demonstrate intellectual superiority” and “a lack of conventional moral constraints,” as well as nagging financial woes. Admittedly, Hanssen had legitimate family obligations that were undoubtedly costly: He and his wife, Bonnie, were parents to six children.
All the same, a clever, skilled-in-computers fellow like Hanssen could have found higher-paying work in the private sector. Likewise, that Hanssen thought himself sharper than his colleagues, or was, from boyhood, fascinated by spies, is hardly a sufficient explanation for a life of espionage. In truth, Hanssen dodged suspicion not only because of the FBI’s negligence but because of what Graham Greene would have called “the human factor”: this surly but smart family man simply did not look the part of a spy. But he admitted to being one. In his one moment of honor, Hanssen pleaded guilty to his crimes in 2001. He drew a punishment of 15 life sentences.
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Some might see Hanssen as a case study in hypocrisy. He broke his vows to his wife, and played fast and loose with the demands of his supposedly devout Catholic faith, by becoming a fixture at strip clubs and pursuing a relationship with a stripper. Perhaps Hanssen’s story could better serve as a metaphor for the atrophying of American institutions: It would be bad enough for the FBI to admit to its ranks a man passionately committed to compromising America but even worse to hire a man who thought it no big deal to do so. One senses Hanssen went about his treachery with a shrug.
Like an itch we cannot scratch, we yearn to understand Hanssen but cannot. Fine minds have tried. Norman Mailer wrote a teleplay about him (Master Spy), and Lawrence Schiller, with the research assistance of Mailer, wrote a book (Into the Mirror). In 2007, the feature film Breach was a gripping account of the FBI’s attempts to pinpoint Hanssen, who, as played by Chris Cooper, came across as a pinched, pious small fry. His characterization rang true, but in the end, Hanssen held on to the biggest secret of all: what led him so painfully, pitifully astray.
Peter Tonguette is a contributing writer to the Washington Examiner magazine.
